


Nymphetamine Fix

by belladonawritings



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, During Canon, Edward Elric Swears, Hypersexuality, M/M, Mental Instability, Rough Sex, Side Relationships - Freeform, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25293037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belladonawritings/pseuds/belladonawritings
Summary: Everybody deals with trauma differently, and for Ed, it's just as convenient to fuck people as it is to do anything else. It doesn't hurt anybody, and besides, it's fun. But there's a difference between enjoying sex and hypersexuality, and Roy watches in concern as things start to spiral out of control.Then Ed's obsession finds a focus in Roy, and it's time to get creative.Lots of sex/smut, lots of angst/darker content, Ed fucks/fucks around with plenty of people who aren't Roy so if that bothers you, not the fic for you. No Ed/Win or Roy/Ai tho, not my jam. Not all darkness, either - I'm a big believer in humour jam with my angst salad and smut sirloin.
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Comments: 16
Kudos: 69





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter doesn't have any Roy in it yet! it does have lots of smut - Ed/Rose and Ed/Fletcher, and has some fantasy noncon at the end.
> 
> Before you get concerned, btw, while this is still fiction, this isn't an "Ed is a rapist" fic. Hypersexuality is a very real condition - you probably know it under nymphomania, sex addiction or another name - and can actually be a consequence of CSA, borderline personality disorder, bipolar and a number of other conditions. 
> 
> While I've put the big warnings on, I'm approaching this fic largely as a Choose Not To Warn experience. That limits my audience, but that's okay - I think this fic would be limited by trigger warnings on every chapter, and I'm using this to some degree to vent my own bullshit. Easier this way! But yeah, know going in that I'm not gonna be super diligent about TWs. Know that there's underage stuff, and rape/noncon, and a lot of smut and not all of it between Roy and Ed.

There’s this expectation, Edward finds, for Intelligent People – intelligent kids all the more so – to be above the baser things. Like somehow being able to do complex math in your head or recite the periodic table in various orders or read two hundred and fifty pages an hour absolves you of any other requirements. It’s normal for smart people, after all, to not need to eat as much, or be so distracted that they forget to drink or sleep.

Well, that much is true. Ed can’t remember the last time he slept without Al reminding him. But smart people aren’t supposed to want _sex,_ either, and so he’s not sure what it means that he does. Maybe that he’s just not as smart as everybody thinks he is.

He does have a lot of fun, though.

He pulls on Rose’s nipples, harder than he should, softer than he really wants to, and she muffles the whimper with her hand, closing her eyes with embarrassment. Nice try. The way her thighs are wrapped around him, her back pinioned against the wall and her other arm wrapped around his shoulders – she’s not _that_ shy. Besides, she was the one who jumped him.

 _Dirty little churchmouse,_ he thinks, or the part of him that’s filthy does, the part of him that he likes to pretend doesn’t exist most of the time, and twirls her nipple in his fingers as he fucks into her harder. Then he grabs her breast where it’s falling out of her dress, the weight of it sending a jolt through his spine.

“P-please –“

“Please what, Rose?” he whispers. They’re in the alley behind the church. Anybody could see them. Anybody could hear them.

“Harder,” she breathes, and she doesn’t mean his cock – she means his hands, so he twists her nipple so hard that she sobs, and it sounds so _good._ “God, yes, please –“

“Please what?” he says.

“Hurt me,” she gasps, and her hand dips between her legs, pulling up her dress and working at her clit as he grinds into her. He doesn’t need to be told twice. He leans in and closes his mouth around her other nipple, sucking and then biting, playing so rough that he half expects to taste blood –

She orgasms around him a few moments later, burying the choking yelp in his hair, and he lets her ride it out. Then comes the whispered plea, “Cum inside me.”

He takes hold of her silk-brown hair and pulls her head back as he fucks her, her back grinding against the concrete of the church. Then he’s done, white dripping down her thighs. Maybe she’ll get pregnant. Maybe she won’t. It’s not really his problem, he tells himself – again, it was her idea, and she’s a small town girl, she’ll have ways of dealing with it one way or another. (You don’t really want her to get pregnant, the small voice in his head reprimands him, but that’s just the post-sex shame speaking up.)

Then – because some part of him can’t quite shake _those_ instincts either – he helps her sit down, even if they aren’t really looking at each other. She fixes her hair, tidies her dress, frowns at the little tear in the strap then shrugs.

“…Do you do this often?” she asks.

“Which part?”

Rose laughs, although there’s a hint of sadness to it. “Oh, the chaos I imagine is just a weekend for you. No, I mean – making love to strangers.”

He rubs the back of his neck. He wouldn’t particularly call it making love, not when he’s planning on never seeing her again. “Depends. I don’t know. Do you mind?”

“Only if you do.”

“Just don’t expect me to call after, you know.”

“Don’t worry,” and she sounds a little brittle at this, and he wonders if he’s done something wrong, but honestly, he’s always done something wrong, “I’m not.”

\----

You learn about sex early, when you live in a farming town, and also when you’re an alchemy student. Sure, when other people talk to him about it, Ed gets all nervous and blushy. That’s what’s expected of you, when you’re the smart genius kid with no social skills. Besides, he doesn’t want to fuck Winry. Mostly because he’d have to _talk_ to her afterwards.

The main problem is, Ed thinks, adults forget what it’s like. Izumi seems to think Ed isn’t going to have a sex drive until he’s eighteen, and his military superiors are happy to talk to him like an adult when it comes to violence, but sex might as well not exist when he’s in the room.

He snorts, staring out the window and stretching out his neck, rubbing at the spot where Rose bit him. Idiots.

“Had fun?” Al sounds, as usual, a mix of faintly judgmental and just a _little_ bit jealous.

Ed shrugs, smiles slightly. “Yeah. She’s sweet.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little…” Al can’t find the right word. “We can’t just pretend we’re not in the military!”

“ _Sure,_ but she grabbed me first. Or are you asking me for the details-“

“No, no, I’m good,” Al sulks. Ed suppresses a chuckle. Al isn’t _that_ upset – he’s mostly completely out of his depth when it comes to sex, even more so when it comes to his _brother_ having sex. It’s not that Al doesn’t care about sex. Ed’s caught him flipping through books in the adult section with _great_ interest. It’s just that until he’s got a body of his own, it’s entirely theoretical.

But thinking about _that_ too much leads Ed down roads he doesn’t enjoy. So he puts that part of his brain to rest, and puts the Smart Kid coat back on. He’s got work to do.

(The way Rose gasped and moaned in his arms sticks around for a while, though. He can’t decide whether it’s her he cares about, or the way it felt to mark her, to hurt her, to cum inside her.)

(It doesn’t need an answer, because he probably won’t like it.)

\---

Their travels are just as patchy and meandering as usual, and Ed finds himself – after another thwarted plot and city saved, which gets surprisingly old – in a peach orchard, hands in his pockets, staring up at Fletcher in the branches.

“…You stuck up for us, huh?” Ed says after a moment.

“Course I did. We were the ones stealing your identities. Just because my brother’s a dumbass doesn’t mean I am.”

Ed laughs at that – genuinely. Then he takes a few steps up the ladder that Fletcher had used, leaving his coat behind and letting his bare flesh arm graze over the bark. It feels good – rough, textured. “You, uh, have to clean up after him a lot?”

“That depends,” Fletcher shoots back. “How often does Al have to clean up after you?”

“ _Ouch._ Brat.” Ed clambers up onto the branch – not the most gracefully, but at least he doesn’t fall. “You made this look so _easy._ ”

“I’m also smaller than you.”

“For your sake I’m choosing to overlook the implication.”

Fletcher is grinning full-on now. “The implication that you’re already short?”

Ed narrows his eyes at Fletcher, who just beams back at him and then – very deliberately – takes a bite of the peach in his hand, juice running down his chin. And Fletcher’s only thirteen, but he’s doing this on purpose, and when Ed pushes Fletcher against the trunk and kisses him, Fletcher is all too happy to kiss him back, pressing their cocks together through leather trousers and flannel shorts –

They end up with Fletcher on Ed’s lap, and Ed is struck by how much smaller Fletcher is than him, smaller enough that he should feel worse about it. He does, but that doesn’t mean he can stop. Besides, they’re not going to fuck. Just a little bit of harmless fun. That’s all.

At least, until Fletcher breaks the kiss, gasping, suddenly ill at ease. “I – stop, I – I shouldn’t –“

Ed’s an asshole, but not that much of one. He backs off, lets Fletcher adjust his clothing – and when the younger boy doesn’t want to talk, quietly takes his leave. He knows when he’s not wanted, and he can get himself off just fine.

Except, he can’t. He just lies there in the dark and feels miserable and wonders what he did wrong and suppresses the urge to go bother Fletcher until he tells him, because he must have done something wrong, _he must have._ Something was wrong. Maybe he came on too strong. Maybe Fletcher wasn’t _really_ signalling him. Maybe –

_Maybe he’s just disgusting._

No, no, he’s not going there. He knows he’s attractive. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be _able_ to have this much sex. Shit happens. So he lies there in the borrowed room in Belsio’s house, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to go to sleep. It’s not like it matters, anyway. It’s just sex. It’s just sex. It’s just sex.

Al comes in, and Ed pretends he’s asleep already, so he doesn’t have to talk about it, because Al will know something is wrong. (Nothing is wrong.) And now that Al’s here, he can’t do anything about it (about what) – except, maybe, if he turns like this, presses the pillow between his legs.

Al doesn’t have to know. And Al doesn’t have to know, either, that there’s something about the fact that he _is_ right there (don’t think about that don’t think about that) –

Ed keeps his lips closed, doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t say a word. And he gets to sleep – eventually. He’ll clean up the mess tomorrow. Al never has to know.

\---

_“Y-you’re hurting me!” Fletcher gasps as the tip slides inside of him, but it’s not the most convincing, not when he’s panting like a little bitch in heat, drool running down his chin._

_Ed leans down over him, Fletcher’s knees over his shoulders, still pushing into him. “I don’t care,” he says with a smirk, and Fletcher winces as Ed’s cock disappears into him. He’s hard as a rock, his barely-pubescent dick bobbing between his thighs, but every time he tries to touch himself, Ed bats his hands away. Now, he strokes his thumb over the weeping tip of Fletcher’s cock, then licks the precum off of the pad of his finger._

_“Beg me to fuck you,” he demands, voice low and heavy._

_Fletcher looks ready to cry, but Ed is almost completely sheathed inside of him._

_“Beg me,” Ed says again. “Or I’m just going to use you as a little cocksheath all night.”_

_“P-please-“ Fletcher whimpers-_

_“Louder.”_

_“Please! Please fuck me! I’ll be good, I’ll behave, I’ll do anything you want, just please fuck me!”_

_Ed starts to move slowly. “You can do better than that.”_

_“Please fuck me like a little bitch, sir. I deserve it. I deserve to have my little hole used and filled, please, please please please-“_

_Some part of Ed knows he’s dreaming. I would never do this in real life, he thinks, vaguely, somewhere in the dreamlogic of his brain._

_But as he starts to thrust into Fletcher, the wet slap of his thighs against Fletcher’s ass surprisingly loud in the fantasy against the desperate moaning, the response his mind gives is – **how sure are you?**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The RoyEd finally begins! Slowly, but alas. 
> 
> One of my favourite things to do with Roy is to take apart the idea that he's super Together and With It, because like, he IS, but it probably takes a tremendous amount of work. 
> 
> Also, while I said I wasn't gonna do per chapter trigger warnings, heads up for some casual use of the f-slur.

Roy didn’t talk about his childhood much. There wasn’t really much to share, anyway; what other people found interesting, he didn’t, and anything he actually wanted to talk about wasn’t actually _his_ to reveal. Hughes seemed to think growing up in a brothel was a lot more exotic and thrilling than it actually was, and the less was said about Mordred Hawkeye the better.

But just because he didn’t discuss it did _not_ mean he didn’t remember it. He wasn’t _that_ old; for all that Edward and Alphonse thought he was some old geezer, everybody _else_ treated him like a baby upstart. And, more to the point, he’d only really stopped fucking around thoughtlessly a few years ago. He knew what hickeys looked like, especially ones that were badly hidden. Ed didn’t want anybody seeing it, but his collar kept slipping and he hadn’t thought it through.

Roy knew better than to mention it. So Fullmetal was getting some action. Good for him.

“I hear you’ve been busy. Tell me, is the Phantom Thief really as beautiful as they say behind her mask?”

Ed turned a hilarious shade of pink. “What you’re _trying_ to say is that you’re aware of everything we do, right?”

He couldn’t help a small chuckle at Edward’s expense. “It’s not my fault if you leave a noticeable trail of destruction everywhere you go. Perhaps you should try settling down for a change.”

Ed shifted uneasily in his position on the couch. “Yeah, and be one of your lackeys? Don’t think so.”

“Working under me would afford you fewer opportunities to wreck buildings and carefully-placed political pieces, you know.”

“But you’d miss cleaning up the mess.”

_More than you know,_ Roy mused with more fondness than he expected. “Regardless of your search, your assessment’s coming up soon. Perhaps you should worry about that more.”

Ed’s face went more sour than he’d expected, at that. “Yeah, it’s not the only thing coming up,” he mumbled, and didn’t seem to realize he’d said it out loud.

“If you want any help-“

“From you? I’d rather die.”

“I choose not to take that personally.”

Ed snorted, then got up. “That all? You’re not gonna be helpful in the slightest?”

“I was making an attempt, but do what you will.”

Ed was about to leave, then he sighed. “Uh –“ Some of the tension he’d been carrying slipped off of his shoulders, something like embarrassed humility dancing over his features. “Al has this bad habit of picking up stray cats.”

Roy stifled a smile, steepling his hands in front of his mouth to hide his amusement. Of course he did. “What about it?”

“We can’t keep it. But, uh –“ Ed scratched his cheek, suddenly bashful, and Roy was struck for a moment by just how _handsome_ he was. Not the kind of thing he was supposed to notice, no, but paired with the hickey on his neck, it was something of a relief to know that Ed was probably going to be _fine._ Maybe it was a flaw on Roy’s part that “fine” meant “able to bed anybody he wanted and get by on good looks and charm”, but it worked for him. “Do you know anybody who wants a cat?”

Anybody, which of course, meant that Ed was asking him.

Well, he’d missed out on the dog earlier. “I’ll think about it,” he said. “Go get some sleep.”

Ed nodded, and left, and Roy found himself chewing over why on earth he felt like something was wrong. Nothing was any more wrong than usual – Ed was kind of _always_ like this, on guard, ready to take offense or snarl, a raw nerve. But maybe that _was_ what was bothering him. It wasn’t getting better. If anything, it was getting worse.

Roy sighed, tapping his fingers on the desk. He didn’t owe Edward anything more than he’d promised. A measure of safety and protection, and leads where he could spare them, in return for a State Alchemist under his command. But he worried. He couldn’t help it.

The phone on his desk rang, and he answered it –

“Are you serious?”

\---

A good… Roy looked at his watch, biting back a scream. Four. Four hours. Four fucking godforsaken hours later. He deserved this drink. He’d _earned_ it.

The entire Central Command had shown up in his office. With no warning.

Fucking pussy-brained cowards.

At least he was smart enough to keep his angrier outbursts internal. He was nothing but polite to his superiors, if sometimes to the point of smarminess. The fact that he occasionally entertained lurid fantasies of picking the stapler off his desk and braining one of the Generals with it was _his_ business and nobody else’s.

“I might be in the wrong business,” he admitted quietly to himself as he walked towards to the pub. He’d learned all sorts of skills growing up with Aunt Chris, but the finer points of diplomacy were still sometimes – not _hard_ for him, exactly. He just didn’t always see the point.

Then he heard something in the alley.

_Vodka,_ complained the stressed part of his brain. _Just a peek,_ countered his curiosity.

The alley next to Giordino’s was one of those thin, dirty ones that wasn’t really intended _for_ anything. It wasn’t big enough to be a street; it was just the thin piece of gravel between two buildings. But it was big enough for two people to talk, or –

“Spread your legs, you little bitch –“

-ah, other things.

Roy would have just scoffed, and turned away, but not that many people in the world had golden hair, and Ed hadn’t even bothered to leave the coat at home. The red coat was just dropped on the alley floor, along with the watch peeking out from underneath; Ed himself had his mismatched hands braced against the wall, leather pants down by his ankles and pooling over his boots, and the most _beautiful_ moans falling from his mouth.

“God, yes, please –“

The man behind him spat on his hand, rubbing it over his cock. He wasn’t anybody Roy recognized – thank god for _that –_ with dark skin and a drunken stagger to his step.

He shouldn’t have been watching. But Roy pressed himself close to the wall, already searching for a rationale in his head. Safety. Yes, of course. This man could be _anybody,_ and it would be horribly embarrassing and overstepping for him to actually _intervene,_ but he might as well make sure Ed wasn’t actually in trouble.

Roy snorted at that train of thought, muffling himself. Ed was trouble. Ed could defend himself just fine.

Still, though –

The man pushed himself into Ed, spreading his cheeks with a grin, and Roy tried not to think about it too hard, tried not to let his eyes linger, because Ed was _fifteen,_ that was too young –

(Bullshit. You got laid when you were thirteen, Roy, young is a relative marker, and besides, you’re here watching and you haven’t left, and by the way, have you noticed how tight your trousers have gotten?)

-and now he was whispering into Ed’s ear but he could see the lip movements enough to attach meaning into what he _could_ hear – _cute little faggot taking it so well –_

Roy squirmed, resisting the urge to press his own erection into the wall. He didn’t have an erection. Absolutely not. That took his brain into directions he really, really didn’t want to go.

Alright, he was going to be a smart man. He tore his eyes away, although the image was burned into his retinas, and pushed open the Giordino’s door. The inside was a smoky mess – just the way he liked it – but instead of taking in the atmosphere as usual, he beelined for the bar.

The bartender – Roy could never remember her name – raised an eyebrow. “Oh, poor you. I heard you got a whole shipful of upper brass today.”

Right. That. Somehow he’d almost forgotten. “…One day I’m gonna find out how you know all this classified info,” he mumbled. “Uh. Vodka please.”

“Vodka? A shot, or –“

“A glass. Three shots. One on top of the other.” At her amused look, he just sighed, attempted to look slightly more put together, and added, “Bad days require strong solutions.”

“As you wish, Colonel, sir.”

She handed him the drink, and he knocked it back in what he assumed was probably record time, from the look on her face. It burned, as per usual, but he was an experienced enough drinker that he appreciated it.

“You know,” she said, as she always did, “you could try this wonderful new thing called ‘mixing it’. Apparently it tastes better. Unless you actually like the taste of cleaning fluid, in which case, you do you.”

Roy just chuckled, handed her the cenz he owed, then adjusted his collar. If he headed out the back –

No, that would get him questions. And as he was thinking about it, somebody came through the Giordino’s door. Roy glanced over, and managed to keep a straight face. It was the man who’d been with Ed in the alley. Time to go.

Roy made his exit, and despite a very large part of him telling him to _go home,_ he stopped at the alley entrance anyway. He could see Ed inside, slumped against the wall –

( _You could fuck him if you wanted to,_ said the part of him that, darkly, meanly, had always thought about it. Roy thought that most people who ended up with somebody that much younger under their direct commend probably _considered_ it, in some sense of the word; they just didn’t _do_ it. _Wanting_ was such a peculiar, multi-faceted word.)

And another part of him, just as strong –

( _I think something is wrong.)_

Probably not wrong in a simple or easy way. Nothing was simple or easy with Ed, except even that was an oversimplification. _Sex_ wasn’t easy, and being a teenager wasn’t the nice, simple, delineated journey for anybody, even if you weren’t. Well.

Roy didn’t talk about his childhood. He hadn’t really had one.

So Roy took a deep breath as the vodka started to muddle his anxiety, prepared himself for the humiliation this was inherently going to involve, and bit back every nasty comment the crueler parts of him were going to be tempted to make. Then he took measured steps towards the boy in the alley.

Ed was looking right up at him as he approached. He didn’t have his trousers on – they hung off of one boot, giving Roy an unfortunately excellent view of his still half-hard dick between his thighs, the sweat-stains on the back of his leg, and the cum splashed on his face. He’d wiped most of it off, to be fair, but there was some still on his cheek, and Roy’s cock twitched at the image. He didn’t say anything at first, and Roy wasn’t sure how to start –

“My eyes are up here, ponyboy.”

“It’d be easier to focus if you were clothed.”

An excellent start. Roy sighed, rubbed his temples. “What I mean is – “

“You saw me and wanted to make sure I wasn’t being taken advantage of.” Ed snorted. “Don’t worry, I’m fine. What I do in my spare time isn’t your business.”

“It’s not. You’re right.”

“So why are you here?’

And now Roy had to put words to it. Harder still with Ed staring up at him with something that he couldn’t decide whether was accusation or grim entertainment. Damn him. There was men twice Roy’s age who were less good at _unsettling_ him. “I – you’re, uh –“

“If you tell me how I’m too young to be fucking people,” Ed drawled, Rizenbul accent coming out just enough to make his point, “I am going to beat you to death with my detached arm.”

“Sometimes, I cannot decide _why_ I like you.” So much for biting back all the snarky responses. Or having any control over the situation.

“Aw, you like me?”

“Shut up.”

“You’re still staring.”

“Would you _please –_ “ Roy couldn’t help the frustrated note, “put your _fucking pants on._ ”

“Fine, fine. No need to yell.” Ed got to his feet, tugging his leather pants up and over himself, and Roy stubbornly refused to watch. “Still don’t know what you’re so mad about. It’s not like you don’t get laid all the time. Or are you just morally shocked that I’m a faggot?”

Oh, _so_ off base. And a lovely chance to flip the tables. Roy smirked despite himself. “You can’t shock me with bad words, Fullmetal, and I’ve had more boyfriends than years you’ve been alive, so _no._ I’m just concerned for your safety.”

“Safety?”

“You work in an office full of men, Ed, I know you know what a condom is-“

“Oh, so you _were_ watching!” Ed’s face broke into a grin. “Is that what this is about? Your voyeurism kink? If _you_ want to screw me so bad, you coulda just asked.”

This…

This definitely wasn’t the Edward he knew.

He kind of liked the banter. But he would have liked it if it didn’t feel so _wrong._

“I’m not going to have sex with you, Edward.” He waited as Ed pulled his boot on. “I’m taking you home, and making sure you get there.”

“So gentlemanly. It’s kind of cute.”

Roy wanted to ask if Ed had been drinking, but no – he knew booze when he saw it. Ed was distressingly sober. He was just… off. He put an arm around Ed’s shoulder to nudge him out of the alley. “Come on,” he said softly. “I’ll call a cab.”

Ed subsided into a sullen silence – much more like him. He hadn’t gotten the reactions out of Roy that he wanted, that much was clear. That part wasn’t new, though. The cat-and-mouse game was normal enough.

They stood on the edge of the road, and Roy stuck his hands in his pockets, trying to look like a Colonel and not a man who’d downed three shots of vodka while panicking. “…Do you do that a lot?”

“Which part?”

“…Give me a moment to reconsider that question.”

Ed rolled his eyes. “Colonel, are you asking me if I have a lot of sex? Because we’ve already been over how that’s not your business, but in service of your creepy fetish, sure. I have lots of sex. Sex is fun. I don’t see a problem with that.”

“People your own age?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m _drowning_ in other teenagers. Marinating in them. Fuck you.”

“I’m just –“ Roy stopped himself. “You’re right. It’s not my business.”

“Why _are_ you so concerned, anyway?” It was said with less of an edge than the others, and Roy glanced over to see Edward’s eyes examining him with a strange intensity. Not drunk, no, but… maybe high.

He wasn’t sure how to answer. Parental caring certainly wasn’t in the books (for a number of reasons, least of all some of his reactions today) and besides, Ed had made it clear on plenty of occasions that he didn’t want a father. Not that Roy felt particularly fit for the job. It was simpler than that, anyway. He just… was. He would be for anybody.

Instead, he just shrugged. “I suppose I shouldn’t be. If you want to have badly-advised sex with strangers in filthy alleyways, that’s your prerogative.”

Ed squinted at him, but let the subject drop. In the silence by the side of the road, Roy couldn’t stop thinking about it – the idea of Ed, sexless in his mind until today, getting railed by god knows how many men, maybe people he knew, maybe not, Ed throwing his head back mid-orgasm –

_(Stop it.)_

He had a problem again. Hopefully Ed hadn’t noticed.

The cab showed up, and Ed shooed him away. “I can get home fine. Seriously.”

That would probably be the end of it – and hopefully, as embarrassing as it would be, Roy had just been overworrying, overdoing it, and Ed was fine.

( _And hey, maybe he hates you now for being so fucking overbearing-)_

It’d been a while since that particular neurosis had shown up. People could hate Roy all they wanted. It didn’t matter.

As for his other problem –

He stared down at his crotch. “No,” he pronounced firmly. Not that it was going to listen to him.


End file.
